


A Bloody Motivator

by Blurhawaii



Series: Fargo [1]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blurhawaii/pseuds/Blurhawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why me?” she asks when he looks over.</p><p><i>You seem to know what you’re doing</i>, he signs.</p><p>And while she doesn’t fully understand, she gets the sentiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bloody Motivator

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a taste of what could have been, Wrench and Molly teaming up. If only...

*

Being back at work feels like a major step backwards for Molly. The officers around her are still celebrating their excellent police work and while she returns, stiff and sore, to her desk she tries to ignore it. But every second she sits there recovering, Lester grows bolder.

She tries appealing but gets the same look of disbelief she thought they’d moved past. And with a broken body and a broken mind, she’s becoming desperate.

Malvo’s influence is spreading like wildfire through the town but it’s not until a few days later, as she’s leaving the station dispirited, that she realises it’s starting to reach her too.

It’s late and the snow glows orange at her feet. When the deaf fella bleeds out of the shadows, she doesn’t even flinch. Her hand settles on the gun at her hip, though it moves no further. 

She can’t say she’s all that surprised to see him out and free. It’s probably not the first time this man’s been in handcuffs but when she recalls his pained, defeated expression in the hospital, she can’t help but be impressed by his resolve, be it motivated by revenge, devotion to one man or blind ambition.

He’s back in his tanned jacket but it hangs differently on him now. It helps her decide on a cause.

He steps further into view, slow and steady, and it’s a gait Molly’s all too versed in lately and she feels an immediate kinship with the guy.

They are both after the same man, it would seem.

He jerks his head to the side, wordlessly says _follow me_ , and she goes. Molly spares one glance back at the station behind her and falls into step with the man she had shot days before.

“Why me?” she asks when he looks over.

 _You seem to know what you’re doing_ , he signs.

And while she doesn’t fully understand, she gets the sentiment.

*

Molly feels so very out of place in his car. She knows that this seat belongs to someone else, someone whose shoes she can’t possibly fill and she feels inadequate.

As she sits there, she wonders to herself if she’s fallen into a hole she’ll never be able to crawl out of, but then she pictures Deputy Grimly trying so hard to do good and Greta, who he’d never want to put in danger, and she feels a little better.

The road stretches cold and empty ahead of them and when she speaks she doesn’t expect much of a response.

“I’m truly sorry about your friend. The man I was with in the storm, the deputy, he would have done everything to help him if it wasn’t already too late.”

Molly sees his hands tighten around the wheel in her periphery but she knows there is no way he could have heard her. Just getting the words out is enough.

She doesn’t say sorry for shooting him; she’s still an officer of the law.

*

After a few hours of driving, the sun fights its way over the horizon and he pulls over into the first diner they pass.

They’re still setting up inside but accept them with friendly smiles and fresh coffee. Using the excuse that they’re still recovering, she orders pancakes for them both and settles in for a muted breakfast.

He stares while she eats and when she simply smiles back, his expression darkens in grief.

“What was his name?” she asks before she can stop herself and he freezes for a brief, frightening moment.

There are containers of broken crayons tucked away on each table for the kids and when his hand reaches for it, he finds a red one. He turns over the paper mat at his place and writes.

_Codenames._

“Oh?” She gulps around the bitter coffee.

He taps the mat with the crayon, creating bloodstains and thinking, until he eventually moves underneath and scrawls.

_Was supposed to be an end of the job perk._

Molly thinks of Vern and his pregnant wife, how he’ll never know his daughter’s name and the pancakes turn to lead in her stomach. It seems no one can catch a break in this town.

He shrugs, as if to say, _no biggie_ , except it’s clearly not the steam off the coffee that mists his eyes.

She might not have pulled the trigger on his partner but she’s beginning to think she did him a worse disservice by failing to kill him too. Although, there’s a fire in his expression as well, one she hates to stamp out but she must; she’s not crossing that line if she can help it.

“We can’t kill him,” she says, seeking out his eyes to show him she’s serious.

He leans back, huffs, the first sound she’s heard from the man, and then proceeds to sign a flurry of words she’d never hope to follow. He’s venting so she lets it flow over her.

Once he’s finished, she leans forward and repeats, “We can’t kill him. Malvo needs to be processed. He’s our ticket to Lester.”

They stare each other down until finally he point at her and shakes his head. He then turns his finger on himself and nods, resolute.

At that moment, sitting in a diner with a deaf hitman, she realises this is her best shot at catching this guy. She’ll have to keep an eye on the deaf fella, revenge tainted with love is a bloody motivator, but for the first time in a long while, she thinks they might actually do this.

***


End file.
